There's static in our skin
by eden alice
Summary: 'He could not stand the thought of her being all alone.' Peter can't stop her nightmares but he tries, and maybe that's enough.


**Should warn you I still have a bad case of writers block. This is set during the episode on the 26th of September but Leanne never went to see Frank and there for never** **interrupted. Hope you enjoy.**

There's static in our skin

Peter should have left a long time ago. It was a dangerous situation no matter how innocent he told himself his intentions were. He was risking his marriage by simply being around the woman that was a catalyst for so much of his wife's insecurities let alone spending the night in the other woman's dramatically styled flat.

But he could not leave, could not stand the thought of her being all alone when he had only been trusted to see the most superficial cracks within her psyche. He was not even sure if she wanted him to stay the night but to walk away felt impossible. Carla had yawed one last time, her eyes hooded and her movements sluggish as she swallowed the sleeping tablet he handed her before silently disappeared into her bedroom.

She had begged him for a few more minuets as she sat curled upon his lap, his fingers soothingly stroking her hair for as much his benefit as hers. A few minuets had turned into hours. He had made a flimsily excuses to Leanne and then turned his phone off. He knew he should feel guilty but could not bring himself to care with the way Carla relaxed against him as she drifted close to sleep. The amount of trust she put in him was awe inspiring.

The way she had shrunk away from him with a look of panic in her eyes had been one of the worst things he ever experienced. He understood that it took a lot for her allow him to touch her and he was beyond grateful. She was solid, tangible in his arms and it reassured some of his more irrational fears. And he was finally doing something; finally he could help her in some way. He hated feeling so impotent, so useless while she hurt.

Peter had tried making her a small meal but she did not seem to be able to stomach eating it. He didn't blame her when his own appetite had diminished of late.

One late night when the image of Carla's battered body had filled his mind every time he closed his eyes he had headed out into the cold to smoke. And he had found himself using his phones internet to try and understand, to find out what he should be doing. He remembered about nausea and flashbacks.

It all felt like useless information when confronted with the woman who would always be more than what was done to her. He had settled on acting by instinct rather than any how to guide. But she had attempted a warm smile to show her gratitude and he could not help but smile back.

He really should be heading home before it became too difficult to walk away. Maybe it already was impossible for him to let her go; just the sight of the darkly violent bruises against the paleness of her skin did something to his insides that was so grave he didn't fully understand it. Things were complicated enough.

Or maybe things were simpler he could not quiet work it out. The atmosphere in the flat was dull and heavy. He stood silently listening for a moment for any sign of movement or distress from her bedroom, ready to save her this time if she needed him. He hoped she was finally able to get some rest, was able to escape reality just for a few short hours.

She had been through more than he wanted to be able to comprehend. And yet Carla barely said a word about how she felt. Her face was tight and worn when she had left the doctors surgery like she wanted to cry. When he had asked if she was okay she had deflected the question and stared defiantly out of the car window. Peter wasn't sure if he was jealous or relieved that she seemed to find it easier to talk to a relative stranger over him.

After he had finished clearing away her cutlery, feeling slightly uncomfortable to be looking though her kitchen in an attempt to find the items homes, the long day finally caught up with him and he felt unbelievably drained.

Peter sunk into her sofa remembering the night she had let him sleep off his drunken self hatred. The way he had felt comfortable and understood for the first time in a long time. He had meant to just close his eyes for a moment but then he felt himself steadily drift towards sleep.

* * *

><p>Peter stirred hours later feeling the presence of another near by. He opened bleary eyes to see a figure standing over him.<p>

"Carla" He croaked, voice rough with sleep and too many cigarettes.

She stood very still staring at him. The first rays of sunrise entered the window behind him and bathed her in warm light. It made her seem all the more ashen and ethereal. He wanted to touch her but was frightened she would flee or disappear as a figment of his imagination. He felt like an intruder, that he should have to explain his presence.

She barely blinked and seemed so uncharacteristically unsure. The satin of her dressing gown pulled down over her hands. He did not speak any further feeling like he would break the spell and she would run like a frightened animal.

He had spent months watching and learning her, the walls she made to keep people out and the glimpses of the troubled woman beneath them. She had shared glimpses of what lurked behind her practiced smile but she kept him on his toes. He felt like he could spend the rest of his life learning her.

"I'm sorry," She finally whispered pushing a gentle wave of hair behind her ear. "I couldn't sleep."

She did not mention the nightmares even though she was terrified that he already knew. But she was not ready to tell anyone about how she prayed for darkness every time she closed her eyes only to be met with images of the most terrible night of her life over and over. How she felt the same terror as he held her against the cold floor, how he had forced her bare thighs apart again and again. His face morphing and twisting into the familiar image of every man she had ever loved in turn.

She had waked up with her heart hammering in her chest and tears running down her cheeks. So angry that even the safety of sleep had betrayed her. She didn't think she would ever be free.

She did not know how to tell him that she was holding on by her fingertips.

Peter sat up and gave her a gentle smile of understanding even if it did not reach his dark eyes. He tried not to show how her nervousness pained him.

"Come here." He mumbled. Reacting on instinct again as he moved to make space for her.

She hesitated for a long beat searching his expression for any hidden motive before mutely moving to sit besides him.

Peter reached up and pulled the folded up blanket from the back of the seat. Arranging the covers over them thinking that maybe they could trap in more than warmth. He lay back down against the semi comfortable sofa and encouraged her to lie next to him. It did not matter that there was barely enough room for one person.

She stifled a yawned as he wrapped his arms around her waist; her hair was soft against his cheek. She was stiff and brittle for a long moment before she seemingly willed herself to relax against his chest. They stayed silent watching morning arrive, hoping the new day would be better than the last.

She was not telling him everything and maybe it did not matter because it was him she was turning to.


End file.
